


Millenia

by captainawesomeduckeh



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Assisted Suicide, Band Break Up, Bandom - Freeform, Cheating, Cutting, Death, Depressed Frank Iero, Depressed Gerard Way, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Drunk Gerard Way, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Frerard, Fucked Up, Ghost!Frank, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, Nihilism, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Philosophy, Self-Harm, Songfic, Suicide, Trippy, Violence, Weirdness, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, ghost!gerard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainawesomeduckeh/pseuds/captainawesomeduckeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But, we only had each other, and why not go out with the person you love most? "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Been Gone

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Very descriptive scenes of self-harm, suicide, and depression. Please read at your own discretion. 
> 
> The main title and the chapter titles are based off of the song "Millenia" by Crown The Empire.

Everyone loves to take comfort in their "afterlife". It's actually quite hilarious to me that people think their afterlife lasts forever, that they're truly immortal. It's hilarious to think that I used to be one of those people. Well, when I was alive anyway. I'm no longer an actual "person", per se. The truth is, even in your, well, "afterlife", you're not immortal. You're never immortal. I, Frank Iero, forever a 33 year old ghost, can still die. You might ask me, WHY? How could a GHOST, a fucking field of energy, die? You WANT answers so desperately. Well, that answer is that my ghostly-ness, my force of energy, dies out when my influence in the external world dies out. The energy I've spread to all of the people in my life. I'm not quite sure how long I've been dead, but I've been dead for quite awhile. It seems like a long fucking time ago since Gerard and I committed suicide. We were sick of the constant memories of My Chemical Romance flooding our heads. We were slowly ebbing away, day by day. The media, the fans, the past, destroying us, ripping us apart until we were just hollow shells. It was so difficult, so painful. Every night was just another pointless show playing with Frnkiero and the Cellabration, another span of the choking sobs lulling me to sleep right after. It felt like nothing playing without My Chemical Romance. I needed Gerard, Mikey, and Ray. And fuck, did I miss Bob. I missed Bob so fucking much after The Black Parade. I missed his aggressive hatred towards cameras, his obsession with cats, all of his quirks. Even the physical harm he inflicted on me. I missed Ray, his large 'fro, his amazing guitar skills, his kindness, his pixie-like attitude. I missed Mikey, his glasses, his quietness, even his weird unicorn shit. And most of all, I missed Gerard. His ever-changing hairstyles, his passion, his sass, his nerdy interests, our scandalous homosexual acts on stage, the real homosexual acts that we snuck behind the scenes. But we threw it all away. We threw it all away for nothing. 

It all started when Gerard married Lindsey on September 3rd, 2007. I'll never forget the date. It was one of the most painful days of my life. My Chemical Romance was at it's ultimate high, we had won over the world. I had never felt better than The Black Parade, until this happened. I thought we were something special, something indestructible, but we weren't. All of the years I invested in him, how much we had grown together, down the drain for someone he barely knew. No one could love him like I did, simply no one. But I should've known he didn't feel the same back. He never revealed to the public that we were official. He tried to keep it as private as possible. I should have seen that red flag. I should have seen the signs in front of me. Seen the signs that I completely ignored. I thought the connection Gerard and I shared was a soul connection. I legitimately thought he was my soul mate, even though I didn't even believe in that bullshit. He could make me believe anything, as cliche as it sounds. But love blinds reality. It blocks out all rational thought, the chemicals fucking with your brain out of your own control. Oh, how lovely. An infinite amount of knives were stabbing into me mercilessly as they said "I do's" and made their marriage kiss. I escaped the chapel without anyone noticing, the tears a streaming waterfall down my face. A mixture of love, rage, and depression exploded from my eyes. I was ripping apart at the seams and I couldn't control myself. After that, we grew apart. We became so distanced, that I ended up marrying Jamia. I tried to fill the void of not having him with her and ultimately my children. It worked, but it was not surefire. I still found myself contemplating what could have been, what SHOULD have been. Contemplating what would never happen and what would never be. And it was sad, oh so sad. 

Then, when we almost had an entire album done, when Gerard decided to scrap it. It shocked the entire band. The album was rage-filled, packed with emotion, ready for our fans to consume, and we were going to throw it all away? I tried to rationalize that maybe Gerard made the snap-decision because of not wanting this caliber of emotion to be released to the public, but were we really going to put the hard work to nothing? Were we really going to have the time we had spent completely wasted? It was so odd, so strange, but then again, everything seemed strange then. Nothing was the same and we could never go back to how it used to be. 

We released Danger Days, it adding to estrangement we were already entangled in. It was a world filled with an entire spectrum of color, happiness, an almost child-like giddiness and glee. We were becoming the opposite of what we were. Gerard's mental health seemed to be at an all-time low, him masking it with all of the color and happiness. Well, everyone's mental health was at an all-time low, really. It was so fake, only a mask that Gerard put on. His "happy" face. Inside, I knew he was dying. Only _**I**_ could see through it, only _**I**_ knew him that well. _**I**_ was supposed to be his, and he was supposed to be mine. Every show became a bore, pointless, ingenuine. Emotions became more and more repressed as time went on, everyone hiding everything from each other. We worked almost as enemies rather than friends. We were scattered, distant, secretive. The opposite of what a band was supposed to be. The opposite of what the people I'd grown to consider family were supposed to be. The people that were once so familiar became strangers. The people that I thought I knew so well, became people I didn't know at all. I didn't know them. Well, at least I didn't know THIS model of them. These weren't the people I knew, but in fact, extremely different. The seemingly-unbreakable unity we once were became so fragile, a weak thread waiting to be pulled just enough to finally break. 

And we did. We did break. It was all on another boring night, after another boring show we played. The lack of feeling, the indifference, grew within each show. And as the indifference grew, the tension grew. And as the tension grew, it would ultimately lead to a great explosion. Indifference really was true hatred. Not giving a fuck enough to give a fuck. After the show, I found Gerard backstage, drunk, giddy, and high. 100% fucked up. It wasn't the first time I had seen him drunk or high since he claimed "sobriety" to the public after Bullets and Revenge, but I had never seen him get to that state in an extremely long time. Maybe he had been doing it all along, behind my back, behind everyone's backs. It didn't strike me as all that surprising, and that was an extremely depressing feat. He saw me as I walked in, his expression mixed with the uncontrollable feeling of ecstasy from the amount of pills and booze he had consumed, a bit of guilt, and a bit of sadness. I simply frowned. "How could you fucking do this to me?! How could you do this to your fucking FANS?! Your BAND?", I screeched. " 'M not doin' shit.", he managed to fumble out. "Yes you are, Gerard! You've been destroying this band all along! You destroyed my fucking heart as well, marrying your stupid bitch Lindsey! You just threw me away like I was nothing, just another cheap fuck. You claim that I was just another fucking stage trick in interviews, you never ever acknowledge our love. I thought we were real, something special, but you went and fucked it up with her. You don't actually love her. You fucking cheated on me right in front of my face and you didn't even care. You made me witness your wedding and fucking sob my eyes out. You've inflicted so much pain on me for the past 4 years and you don't even give a shit. You hide behind your stupid fucking happy-colorful Danger Days mask and you're distant to your bandmates and your own fucking brother. I guess the band should now be called "Gerard Way and his stupid fucking groupies", huh? You lied to your fans about your so-called "sobriety' and you're sitting here a drunken, high fucking mess. You lie to the entire band all of the time and hide all of your emotions. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if this is a regular occurrence for you. You do this all of the fucking time behind our backs, DON'T YOU?! Not at all that shocking. F-", I managed to get out, before he stumbled over and attached his lips to mine. I pushed him off. "FUCK YOU!", I screamed as loudly as possible. And that's when I lost it. I lost all control. 

I punched Gerard in the face, inflicting a large blow. I had hurt him quite badly, a black eye forming on his face. Gerard just stood there, blinking. I gave him a glare of pure hatred. I tried walking away, but he grabbed me a bit and stuttered out "F-f-r-rank." "No, I'm not giving you another fucking chance. You really fucked up this time, Gerard. Honestly, you deserve to be left on your own, a pathetic excuse for a "human". Fuck you.", I spat. Gerard remained standing in shock, so I left. 

The days following grew worse and worse. Tensions remained unsolved and the band grew even more distanced than ever before. I avoided Gerard and Gerard avoided me. What was once love was now rage, what was once peace was now war. But, I guess there really is a fine line between both. Love is rage and peace is war. Rage is love and war is peace. And this was how it remained until our last show, Bamboozle, in Asbury, New Jersey, May 19th, 2012. I still remember the details exactly. We got on stage for the last time, ready to fucking explode from the anger and frustration buried deep inside. We played the set, not giving a single fuck in the world. The amount of fucks we gave decreased by the day, until it hit the negatives. We were up to our last song, "Helena", and I knew it was going to be our last. The way Gerard's stare burned into my eyes, the series of events that lead up to this, how low the band was, how none of us felt nothing but hatred towards each other. We were over, I had the gut-feeling. If we continued on this way, or "carried on this way", if you will, we were going to either kill ourselves or kill each other. And, of course, I was right. I'm always right. 

A few months later, we took our last photo together. Such a bitter photo, I remember, filled with nothing but vexation and echoes of the past. But that's all they were, memories. The bittersweet memories threatening to push my eyes to spill at any second. But I repressed the urge to sob anyway. That's what we all did. Gerard announced to us that we were having a "band meeting", so unusual compared to his usual lack of communication and fear of confrontation. My suspicions were confirmed. We were definitely breaking up, something we couldn't avoid anyway. My Chemical Romance was destined to, following this path in this particular sequence of events. So doomed. "I have something important to say. This was going to happen anyway, you all knew it, but someone had to have the balls to speak out about it.", he paused, the group of men staring in anticipation. "We're breaking up.", he said dryly. I just spaced out in awe. I anticipated it, yes, but it was still shocking, nonetheless. The band I had been in for 12 years was actually breaking up. It felt like what I imagined getting a divorce would feel like. A divorce after a long fucking marriage. A marriage that had its ultimate highs and ultimate lows, moments of pure joy, happiness and moments of pure depression and dragging on hopelessly without a cause. My Chemical Romance was a marriage. A bit shaky in the beginning, a bit reckless, but fulfilling, perfect a quarter-way in to the middle, and drastically reducing into the pitiful, loveless, lifeless excuse for a relationship (well, band in this case) that it developed to become. The most dreaded realities of my life were coming forth, and fuck, oh fuck was it painful. Oh, how growing older was painful. 

 

We released Conventional Weapons, the scrapped album we recorded before Danger Days, soon after. That album, holding so many memories. So many memories of our path to failure. We released it in increments, song by song. Each song bringing us closer and closer to doomsday. Closer and closer to the date we were to officially announce our disbandment. Each day, I grew more and more bitter. I hadn't picked up my guitar for ages. It sat collecting dust, lonely, unused, wasted. Exactly how I felt. I felt the guilt creep up on me, the feeling that I had abandoned my guitar to rot into nothing. But it was for my own well-being. I had no use worrying about inanimate objects. Days past, then weeks, then months, and then it was finally March 22nd, 2013. The ticking time-bomb exploded, leaving only fragments of memories in its debris, it's wake. Fragments of both joy and pain, love and hatred. Oh, how contradictory, but so similar at the same time. The fans were shocked and horrified at the news, mourning the end of their favorite band. It spread through the internet like a wildfire, everyone was talking about it. It ranged from the people who barely knew us to the hardcore fans to the media, milking us out of a "juicy" story in their lack of originality and desperation. And that was the death of My Chemical Romance. A bittersweet mess. 

Gerard and I ceased contact for months after. We became strangers once again, like I had never met him. Like I had never been that lame pothead kid in a sweaty crowd admiring My Chemical Romance from the sidelines, when he asked me to join the band. Like we had never shared those shitty nights getting fucked up out of our minds, what was seemingly shallow, but yet, so deep and connecting between us. Like we had never exchanged those sloppy kisses on stage or snuck having sex in the tour bus, but then, ending up not giving a fuck whether or not they heard us. Like we were simply nothing and that span of 12 years never existed. 

I never did get over it. The bitterness simply wrapped itself around my entire body even further, consuming me. Wrapping me in a cocoon of hatred and despair. I was forever the cocoon, never breaking free and becoming a butterfly. The dull ache of depression in my heart never stopped. I got back into old habits, drinking, doing drugs. I started writing shitty music, starting up frnkiero and the Cellabration, in attempts to dull the pain. But it never did. It never stopped me sobbing myself to sleep each night. It never stopped the negative feelings. It never stopped the constant urge to put a bullet in my brain, to overdose on pills, to slit my wrists and bleed out. I couldn't fill the void, no matter how hard I tried. And I just sat around, being the mess I was, until I finally mustered up the courage to finally end it. 

It was just a typical night of overthinking and wallowing in the woe that had seemed to have completely taken over my life. I was thinking about the fans and the bullshit I had received regarding My Chemical Romance, Gerard, and simply everything over again. I could never escape the abysmal tunnel that I was digging further and further into uncontrollably, the hole that the world was digging me into. I could not escape the shit that I endured from the public for so long. I could not find a way out. And, as the cliche goes, desperate times call for desperate measures. 

I decided I was finally going to take my life. No pussying out, no rethinking it. I had already done all of the thinking I needed to do. I was tired of crying, I was tired of being scrutinized by everyone, I was tired of Gerard, and I was fucking done. It was so selfish of me to leave behind my wife and children, but it had to be done. They could prosper on without me. No one needed another disgusting human being like I. No one needed me. 

I went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of extra strength pills, and a knife. Just as I was about to take the blade to my skin, someone had slammed the door open. 

Low and behold, it was Gerard. How fucking fantastic. "Frank!", he screamed out, while searching the house to find me. The drunken tone in his voice and the memories that further invaded my mind made my skin crawl. He ended up finding me in the kitchen, and his eyes widened at the sight of the pills and the knife. But being drunk, he simply walked up and attacked my lips, a deep kiss between us forming. I didn't have the energy to fight him off of me. Who fucking cared anymore? When it broke off, he simply stated, "If you're going to end it, at least do it with me." And I didn't object. 

I nodded, went to the cabinet, and handed him his own personal bottle of pills. I then went to the drawer and handed him a knife. "If we're going to die, let's make it effective.", I giggled maniacally. He grabbed his tools eagerly. We swallowed our tablets of death in silence. We took the knives to our wrists and let the blood drain out. And somehow, there was something so romantic about it. Something so romantic about something so morbid. Something so beautiful about the blood that poured from our bodies, mixing together, truly becoming one. Something about going out with your soul mate that really packed a punch. And we sat there in bliss and died. We were at peace. We were finally gone. 

And you may ask, "Why did you do it? Why did you have to die? Why couldn't you have fixed it while you had the chance?" To that, I can barely give you an answer. Maybe it was the rush of the moment. Maybe it was because we were too acrimonious, too rancorous, to stuck in our mutual desolation. Maybe we were both just fucking sick, or maybe neither of us wanted to die alone. Maybe it was every reason and no reason at all, all at the same time. 

But, we only had each other, and why not go out with the person you love most?


	2. Close My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you realize, silence is in fact better than the finite explanation of language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so fucking sorry for not updating for a year!!! This is really short and terrible and I'm sorry for this terrible fic. I hope for it to get better in the future. I cannot be forgiven for this sin. There is no excuse for this garbage update after a year. I promise to update more often, with better chapters not written at almost 3 am. Bare with me!

You know, I thought that was where my life ended. The cold lull of unconsciousness sweeping you away, until you never return. Death being the end. And in those moments before my death, I regretted my decision because of this. Deeply. Because I knew we could've turned our lives around, changed them. We could have gotten help and we could've gotten happy. We could have lived. But we decided to go, permanently. The possibilities were right in front of us. But, of course, we couldn't see that. Emotions blind rational thought and get in the way. Humans are truly interesting creatures. But, little did I know, death wasn't the end. And it was confusing, as all things in life are. Life is a complicated clusterfuck, I have come to learn. So is death. Both coexist and battle one another. So, the lull of unconsciousness brought me to a different place. An experience like no other. Something unimaginable, unless you truly experience it. No, I did not encounter your cliche, human-like depiction of a god. It wasn't the Christian god, or Buddha, or any set of gods. It took on no form, no gender, no sex, no voice. It was fluid and omniscient. It had no defining characteristics. According to all sciences, it would be declared nonexistent. Non-detectable. It defied all objective means of thought. But its presence DID exist and its lack of form honestly TERRIFIED me. When something has no unique characteristics, it makes you naturally uncomfortable. You can't describe it. You can't know it. You can't familiarize yourself with it. It's just there, unpredictable and open-ended. The creature, god, otherworldly entity, whatever, spoke to me. And you might ask me, how could it speak to you if it had "no voice"? To that, I can't answer you. It was telepathic-like, in my head. I thought I was going insane. The voice wasn't masculine or feminine, and like I said, had no defining characteristics, which sounds unimaginable. Maybe I was going crazy and this was all a dream. But, I never did wake up from that dream. The voice echoed in my head, speaking to me, babbling on about my destiny, laying it out on the table. It understood me in ways that descended all mortal understanding. It explained my entire life and everything leading up to this moment. Why I did what I did. Reading me like a book, better than I could ever read myself. It laid down the rules of existence. I didn't listen. And then, this being disappeared. It hushed itself, and disintegrated in the great expanse of the universe. The being was simply a fragment and micron. Nothingness nothingness nothingness. Oblivion. 

I was sucked into a wormhole of blackness and meaningless shapes and colors forming before my eyes. It was as if I gobbled a sheet of acid and was transported into another dimension. I was floating without control into an infinite streamline of existence. Symbols and imagery kept floating before my eyes so quickly that I couldn't find the time to interpret it all. Every memory and flashback of my life began replaying, much like a film. A symbol marked every memory. Before my eyes, all of the memories of my childhood and being a musician and drugs and ESPECIALLY images of Gerard were being neatly filed into an imaginary cabinet. Each had their own compartment. Existence was fleeting and time was ever existent, but somehow non-existent at all. Gerard Gerard Gerard kept flooding my head. Consciousness, I realized, was everything. Everything is merely a concept and a fabrication of the inner-workings of the mind. I came to many realizations, and disagreements with myself in this time period. The contradictory collided in my brain and mashed and become one with each other. The contradictory thought processes are the same. I was literally looking into the insides of my brain and racking myself for the answers for the sights in my cranium. I hated Gerard. I loved Gerard. To be or not to be. The ultimate inquiry. 

And suddenly, after this transformation, my metamorphosis, Gerard became apparent in my vision. My self-actualization, the death of the ego, spawned its way into the land of my choosing. Consciousness dictated everything. Gerard and I simply stared in awe at our experiences and ghostly forms. I trace the gaseous-like properties of my fingers on his pale (even more so than when he was alive), flawless form, earning a sigh. A sigh of exasperation mixed with relief. And I simply silenced myself and basked in the glow of the depths of my now realized expansive conscious. We simply sat in a comfortable silence and blissful delirium. It was easier than babbling mindlessness. Sometimes, you realize, silence is in fact better than the finite explanation of language. 

I begin to hum old, familiar punk tunes, and Gerard joins along. The vibrations of our ghostly vocal chords vibrate into the deep sea of the never-ending, ever-expanding universe. There is a certain sense of peace and equilibrium that one cannot imagine achieving at this moment. A true state of nirvana. I grabbed Gerard. He soaked into my embrace and we were in harmony. In the after-life, things get fixed, and change with your expanding consciousness. Gerard and I had become one soul. I soaked in his touch and traced my fingers over his ghostly body, in both a sensual, somewhat erotic way, by some's definition, and simply enjoyed the moment. He let out a beautiful moan of content. We soaked each other's presence and seemingly infinite existence in. We laid in a euphoric forgetfulness of the past life's events for the time being, and enjoyed the fruits of the next plateau, meaning being simply conceptual. I lie in the the sedation and delirium of this mind-boggling experience. I let the diphenhydramine-like high trip fade me into a doze and then a snooze of nothingness. 


End file.
